


Til Kingdom Come

by parareve



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Husbands, I mean I made him cry, Kurogane is sad and I feel a little horrible about it, M/M, Post-Series, Resettled!Suwa, So Married, Tsubasa family is the best family, lots of introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 17:34:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4573467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parareve/pseuds/parareve
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not the home Kurogane remembers, but it's familiar to him all the same. A post-series look on Kurogane coming to terms with the family, and home, that he left behind, and the territory still in his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Til Kingdom Come

The thought had always been a halfhearted one, tucked away beneath the tightly wrapped bandages that he himself had bound so many years ago.

Of course, he had never fully considered it. Only thought of it.

It was a path that he had voluntarily chosen not to take. That life was gone—he had pledged it away within the lavishly painted screens of Shirasaki's great hall, devoting himself only to the Mikado, his new master, and in doing so had vowed to fulfill the life that had been offered to him. He had put any memories of Suwa and its Lord and Lady behind him. He had moved on.

It wasn't out of comfort, finality, or acceptance—it had been a bitter action, a winding path that drove him deeper into the realms of denial with each step.

He hadn't moved on, per-say; he had forgotten. He had forced himself too.

He hated the thought of weakness, hated it with such ferocity that the very notion of it made his fingernails bite into his palms like the teeth of a dragon lusting after vengeance, and yet he did not know why.

Everyone was so weak around him, and it was infuriating. He was blinded by this belief, this obsession in strength—it overrode his conscious thought, turned him into a shadow that prowled the halls of a palace too peaceful for threats, so he instigated them himself, because if he was not growing stronger, not able to kill in one slice, not able to admonish his foes with a single glance, then he was weak.

His princess had thought the opposite, had made it startlingly clear—and he had cursed her for her betrayal, spat on the holy title that only the keepers of the moon were bestowed, splintered and prickled and trembled with rage at the pain of being cast away.

He had never felt so alone in that moment. Even he had looked down on the outcasts of Nihon with pity—at least they had put up a fight. He hadn't even had the chance.

For three months, he carried the loathing stance of a man lost in direction. For three months, he spat nothing but bitterness, offered no sympathy, and walked outside the pack. He could've cared less where the brats ended up, so long as he found his way home.

At the time, that had seemed so simple. And then—young eyes firm, a voice not yet grown into adulthood asking with confidence for training, somehow it all seemed so familiar—

And he remembered.

_For what purpose? What good will becoming stronger do?_

He had not only forgotten the pain of his youth, the remorse of somehow not being capable of preventing what was already unpreventable; he had forgotten the vow he had made, then.

_Do you only wish to become stronger for your own satisfaction?_

And it had stung like a knife, pierced through the bandaging he had spent years pulling tighter and tighter across a heart still aching.

Perhaps, in the end, the realization in itself was unavoidable. Perhaps Tomoyo knew this, even as her palms glowed with the magic of the gods and remorse shone in her eyes, for why else would she cast him away without the full understanding that he would return, blood and bone and strengthened in more ways than he had ever comprehended before?

He had spent enough years to surpass what was countable on one hand with the same three—four—people, fighting the venom of self-hatred in bright blue eyes, advising the young boy he had grown to care for much like a son, sheltering the young girl he had grown to appreciate and admire much like his own princess, and learning to understand the incomparable wisdom of a dark-eyed witch and the magical creature that trusted her without a moment's hesitation.

It had all changed him, to an extent even he was still not entirely sure of; but there had never been a time where he had felt so whole.

Everyone at Shirasaki knew it, too. He had crossed the threshold of the palace gates undoubtedly a new man—gone was the murderous glare of a warrior thirsting for blood, the confusion of a child stripped of identity with nothing to lean on but anger and regret. He was undoubtedly still Kurogane, sharp-grinned and narrow-eyed, but there was something about the softness at his mouth when his gaze turned to the man so frequently at his side, the pride in the voice of the princess whose allegiance he had pledged for life, that showed this was a different man.

He had thought, however, that this would be the extent of his change. He had matured, brightened, and humbled, even—that was to be sure—but he never imagined that the thought would cross his mind again.

In essence, it was nothing foreign to him; more often than not, the images behind his closed eyelids were of rice fields whistling in the wind, of koi swimming in clear springs flanked by summer honeysuckle. It was a place he revisited often, both in and out of dreams; but it was only on rare occasion that he truly considered going there.

The possibly had always been so distant, so unnecessary. He served under his Mikado now; the ranks of shinobi he had pledged himself to were his family, and the painted crescent moon of Shirasaki Castle was his home. There was no reason to return to whatever ruins were left in the wake of that hellish day, and for the longest time, he had never had the desire to even think of revisiting them. His image of Suwa was that of years past, pure and happy; not the reality of a battlefield stained with black blood and alight with the fire that burned across scorched lands and in his own heaving chest.

But he had changed.

It was the quiet words of the mage one morning, the scent of early spring in the air and the warmth of a simple breakfast settling in their stomachs, that had made him fully understand.

"I think," Fai had started softly, a cool breeze from the open screens rustling the fine hairs about his face, "that he would be very proud of you."

Out of habit, Kurogane's hand had been halfway to brushing back those pesky strands of fair hair before his arm froze. Fai had always been hesitant to mention anything regarding Kurogane's past; maybe a gentle question here and there, about his parents, his childhood, his first meeting with Tomoyo, but never anything too forward. And it had almost made Kurogane laugh then, openly and unabashedly, at how simple everything still was.

Except he didn't laugh. In fact, the very notion of laughter seemed unreachable for him—and maybe the mage had seen it, blue eyes drawn wide with trepidation and lips fixing themselves shut in an abrupt display of regret. Kurogane had already drawn himself in a position to scold, one hand splaying roughly through pale locks in a reassuring tussle, but the gravelly choke that left his lips had caught him so much by surprise that any words he might have spoken fell short.

"Kuro-sama…?"

It had taken him a moment to realize he was blinking much too quickly, brow puckered in bafflement and a confused smile twitching at his lips, but when Fai had taken his hand in his and cradled it in a way he had only seen when soothing the children, his face had softened in understanding.

He had ducked his head then, breathing a few times to calm the tremor in his chest, and it was only when Fai tipped his head to nuzzle lightly against his temple that he found the air to speak.

"I want to go back," he said slowly, the words so soft and ragged that they sounded like the voice of the boy who had woken with Tomoyo at his bedside, not the man he had grown to become.

Fai had held him silently after that, though for how long he wasn't sure.

He had never considered the fact that he had grown away from the promise he had so diligently made in his youth, abandoning the ideals of loyalty and care that had been taught to him. He had thrown them carelessly away beneath the gauze of memories too painful to remember, and in doing so had lost the very concept of strength that his father had so diligently stood by, the strength he himself had always aspired to achieve.

But he had changed—and though he knew he could never return to the boy he once was, eager to please his father at every chance and keep his mother strong through her pain, he had certainly changed for the better.

And it was then, more than ever, that he understood why he needed to revisit those ruins. Not only to confront the pain of his past—for there was much of that, buried within him and aching still despite all that had improved in him—but also to acknowledge what he had abandoned there: the land of his father and forefathers before him, the land of his mother, and his land in right, his to claim as his own for all that it was worth, and his to do with as he wished.

The idea of revisiting Suwa was a sorrowful one, equally heartfelt as it was painful, but the idea of reclaiming Suwa was harrowing in and of itself. But the possibility was still there; and something about that, though daunting, was almost comforting to him.

He had simply told Tomoyo that he wanted to put his penitence to rest, to visit the figurative graves of both homestead and family and find solace in them, and she had not asked another question of him. They had set out early, humidity just beginning to set in the morning air and the heat of their steeds' breaths rustling the dew gathered on overgrown grass.

He had only wanted Fai with him, finding comfort in the fact that he could share this moment with the man who had become not only his lover but a close friend over the years, and the idea of any trailing ninja had put an unsettling knot in his stomach.

The journey was slow, almost reverent in its pace, as if both men understood the meaning of the pilgrimage being made and the countless unknowns that could be waiting for them at their destination. Too often, Kurogane found his gaze shying away from the road, moving to any passing objects or settling on the pale skin of Fai's neck, distracting himself from the thoughts boiling beneath his temples—what could he expect? Would there be anything there? Nothing?

Even so, gradually, the curve of the landscape became familiar; he knew these hills, these trees, these rocks, and it startled him how quickly his breath caught in his chest when they crested the knoll that marked the start of the Suwa Providence.

Fai could feel the change in the atmosphere, the change in his lover, and drew his steed to a halt.

"Maybe we should continue on foot," he offered softly, and Kurogane was silent a moment before slowly nodding. They dismounted together, the worn path of earth below them scuffing away beneath their feet, and Fai nudged the flanks of their steeds to send them trotting off to the nearby riverbank.

The air was crisp, wind whispering through the trees of grassy fields, and Fai paused to breathe in the cool musk of fresh mountain air. Kurogane seemed to do the same; a faint furrow creased beneath the headband tied around his brow, his eyes slipping shut as he inhaled slowly, exhaling through parted lips, and then started off down the half-overgrown path dipping into the small valley below.

Fai followed his lover silently, blue eyes darting around the area with faint prickles of curiosity and frequently observing the silent face beside him. It seemed as if Kurogane was nothing but passive, but in a way Fai supposed he had to be, remembering, with his own feelings of remorse, walking through the corpse-ridden halls of Luval Castle.

The land had been reclaimed by nature, overgrown weeds and wildflowers tangled across the splintered skeletons of aged wooden beams—and though it wasn't the Suwa that Kurogane remembered, this place was still familiar to him all the same. He saw the crumbled structure of the manor gates—ripped apart by the razor-edged claws of the Oni that had ravaged the land that day—and instinctively clenched his left palm, even though he knew the scar that had healed across his hand from years passed was no longer there.

To anyone else, perhaps the area would have seemed like little more than abandoned buildings, rendered to a near-unrecognizable state by age or weather or anything else that seemed reasonable. But Kurogane knew them: the cornerstone of the manor well, the broken beam of the stable roof, the weatherworn stones of the tea room irori. Some things he pointed out to Fai, and each time the blond would stare at the remains quietly, trying to piece together what he could of Suwa's manor.

They walked along the outskirts of the forest, the garden half-clogged with dead weeds and wilted flowers, the stream near the edge of the rice fields, and with each mention and hum and nod to an object, Kurogane grew more and more quiet.

It was just drawing past noon when they made their way from the edge of the manor's property, and Kurogane braced one foot against an angled rock jutting out from the knoll, looking out across the fields stretching far into the horizon.

"S'all of it," he said finally, motioning to the distant reaches of the providence. Fai's eyes followed the movement of the warrior's arm, awed and humbled at once by the action, and found himself momentarily at a loss of words.

"So, this," Fai murmured, the cool breeze pulling at the light layers of his yukata, "I mean, all of this…is yours…?"

Kurogane gazed out at the fields a moment more before nodding.

The heavy weight of the information this presented—the implication of status, wealth, inheritance, all denied for years—drew Fai's lips closed. He turned to study to firm expression of the ninja beside him, muddled and confused, unsure how to open up and speak about the heavy weight of this moment, and found himself silenced from his usual babble. This was a much-needed moment, and the silence from the ninja, though not uncommon, carried a distinct air, and Fai knew he had been processing his words the moment they had set foot here.

"It's a lot to take in, isn't it?" he began, his brows furrowing.

"Yeah," Kurogane breathed out, low and contemplatively. He tapped the ball of his foot against the flat stone he had perched against, his brow wrinkling in thought and a deep sigh rumbling out of his chest. "Yeah, it's a lot." Crimson eyes looked over to the left of the knoll, at the forest that had for so many years been an occupation of his free time, and then back to the springs of the nearby gardens, the rivers where he had caught fish. It was all overwhelming and underwhelming at once—overwhelming because he remembered everything so vividly now, remembered it all, and yet underwhelming because it just wasn't the same. What he remembered were dreams, fractions of reality plucked apart and separated, molded into his own image of what Suwa was—but this wasn't the same Suwa he remembered, this was the real Suwa, and if he chose to ever try to rebuild this place, this would be the Suwa he would be lord of.

"It's not the same," the ninja continued, his voice tinged with a raspy edge to it that Fai rarely heard outside of displays of extreme anger, except instead of raging and frustrated, Kurogane's voice had deepened into one more unsure and pained, "And I know that. I know it can never be the same…I guess that's something I just gotta accept." The ninja stepped back from the stone, rocking on the back of his heels and his right hand falling to the scaled hilt of the dragon-headed blade strung to his hip. His thumb dragged down the steel edges, his knuckles whitening slightly around the sword as his gaze stared off at his feet. "I don't know if I want this. I don't know if you want this. But, it's…mine, nonetheless." He released a tense breath, and his lips twisted into a frown. "I don't know what they would want of me."

Fai drew himself to his lover's side slowly, silent and hesitant but for the gentle look of reassurance in his eyes.

"I could never speak for them," he said carefully, "and I know I didn't know them. But, from what you described to me of them, I think they would only want you to be happy, and to carry out the wishes that your heart holds." His fingers settled gently along the ninja's right hand. "I don't think they would want you to feel the pressure to carry on their legacy, if it is not what you desire." He swallowed quietly, the wind rustling the loose frays of his hair. "But your mother foresaw that you would meet Tomoyo. She knew you would follow a different path. And she asked that you have your heirloom for a reason." Fai stared out at the land silently, his words softening. "I can't tell you what decision to make…but you are the strongest man I have ever known." Kurogane's gaze snapped to his suddenly, red eyes widening just slightly. "I know your heart is true," Fai said gently, "you have the heart and soul of a dragon, and you will protect all that is precious to you. I know that now. And I think you will make the right decision, when the time comes."

Kurogane's chest tightened uncomfortably, and he cleared his throat to ease off the scratchy feeling that had started to build inside of it.

"Mage—"

"Just promise me this, Kuro-sama," Fai started suddenly, and Kurogane blinked at him. "You can grieve, and mourn here. Let yourself grieve and mourn. But promise me that when we leave here, you won't blame yourself for their deaths." The steadiness that had suddenly risen in the blond's voice was startling enough to make Kurogane's throat dry up all the more, and he almost found himself speechless at the realization of what the mage meant, what message he was conveying, what he himself had ground into the blond's head after seeing how many years he had been weighed down by demons of his own.

"Promise me," Fai repeated firmly, and cool blue eyes fixed on the crimson gaze that had locked wordlessly with them.

Kurogane couldn't find the ability to speak, and he didn't need to. Fai nodded slowly, and without hesitation his palms slid across the muscled arms draped in wine red cotton, curling across broad shoulders and drawing the larger man down into his open arms.

The action was hauntingly familiar; of course, it was not as if it had never occurred between them, but in this instant it reminded him of nothing more than the warm embrace of his mother—and, without really understanding why, that loosened the grip he had on the bandages he had forced around himself, tugged them free without him really realizing it, and it was only when his chest surged with pain and he struggled to draw in even breaths did he understand what Fai had meant when he said to grieve.

He crumbled, sifted away like sand beneath the press of the changing winds and leaned heavily into the arms that curled more securely around him. He had always struggled with the meaning of strength, the purpose of strength, the value of it, and in that moment he remembered the words Fai had mentioned bitterly so long ago.

_It takes the strength to cry, when you need to._

"It's okay," Fai murmured gently against his ear, and it took him a moment to put the words together as emotion that had been bottled up for far too damn long finally spilled out in torrents, knifing into his lungs with each shaky breath and dampening his cheeks with tears he had never known he needed to shed. "It's okay," Fai repeated quietly, thin fingers sliding up and down his back in slow caresses that would have cast shivers across his spine any other time, but only soothed the tension in his muscles now.

It didn't last long—it didn't need to—and it was only after a few long moments that he composed himself again, cursing bluntly at the headache that pounded in his head and rubbing at the dampness that had streaked along his jaw.

It took another moment to catch his breath, another for the blond to smile proudly and adoringly through his own dewy eyes, and another for the two to step away from the windswept scenery.

"I think it'd be good for us to sleep on this, ne?" Fai said with a faint smile, tucking back the fringe fluttering in front of his eyes.

"Yeah," Kurogane grunted, and reached a hand over to smooth back the blond's bangs himself, fingers tugging short and soft on loose ends of hair. His eyes studied the path ahead, his brows knitting together. "I'm going to pray for guidance later."

Fai turned towards his lover gently and he smiled more to himself, nodding in agreement.

They walked through the remains of the manor archway, back up the grassy knoll they had started at, and Kurogane paused just a breath to give the ruins of Suwa—home—another look, before he turned back to Fai.

The blond grinned, eyes glittering more beautifully than the sky above them, hair still an untameable mess as ever, but as he extended his hand in silent invitation Kurogane couldn't find it in him to scowl at the mage, and with a slow breath, he laced their fingers together.

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse me as I loudly blow my nose (because crying over Kurofai feels on top of feeling sick is not a good feeling). I deeply apologize for this angsty mess of introspective thoughts on Kurogane's character development. Phew, this boy has had it rough. I'm thinking of doing a partner piece to this with a similar style about Fai's past, but I haven't come up with a start for it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
